“Who, Walter?” Emma seemed genuinely confused. “Was he ill? He seems in great health tonight.”
Langford had said Walter had the flu. “Maybe I misheard,” Sebastian said, unease threading through him. “I’ll keep looking for them.”
“You’ll come back when you’ve got them, won’t you, and I’ll find Blanche?” said Emma. “I know she would love a chance to talk to someone from home, and if you’re one of Arthur’s friends, I already know I want to hear all about you.”
“Arthur has the most interesting friends,” John said.
That was one way to describe that everyone Arthur spent time with was paranormal. Sebastian tried to smile. “Of course,” he promised, and slipped away in the opposite direction. Whatever was going on tonight, he’d make sure Arthur’s family wasn’t hurt by magic ever again.
He accepted a glass off a waiter’s tray, more as a prop than with any intention of drinking anything that might be in it. The music became louder as he skirted the edge of the crowd into a large ballroom, where a jazz band in costumes played in the corner. The ballroom had been decorated for Halloween, with paper skeletons and bats on display. Glass windows lined the long back wall, overlooking a stone patio with several more pumpkins, their glowing faces visible as dots between partygoers’ legs.
Sebastian scanned the room, but Wesley’s tall form was nowhere to be seen. He turned back to consider the first room, with the prominent curved staircases.
Had Langford lied about Walter’s flu? But why? And where were Langford and Wesley?
He hadn’t searched upstairs yet. Guests didn’t seem to be climbing the stairs, but a waiter was disappearing down a narrow hall with a tray of empty glasses. Heading for a dumbwaiter to return the dishes to the kitchen, perhaps, and there might be staff stairs nearby.
Sebastian set the glass on one of the bar-height tables that lined the edges of the room, not far from a man playing an upright bass, and followed the waiter down the hall.
Sure enough, a set of narrow staff stairs disappeared both up and down from the main floor. Sebastian had just stepped through the doorway when he heard a voice behind him.
“Sir? Are you looking for something?” Another waiter was peering at him politely.
“Um.” Sebastian’s mind raced. He couldn’t knock the waiter down. What would Wesley say in this situation? “I’m looking for the...smoking room? I just need a quick break from people?”
“Oh!” The waiter smiled. “Yes, that’s upstairs, second floor. Should be empty,” he said sympathetically.
Sebastian offered him a smile and turned back to the stairs. They weren’t carpeted like the main staircase, so Sebastian moved as quietly as he could as he climbed.
It was an uncomfortable feeling, not being able to use his magic, as if he’d shown up to the fancy party naked. He braced himself with a quick breath and stepped into the hallway of the second floor.
The hall had no wall on one side, just the railing overlooking the hanging chandelier and central room downstairs. The noise of the guests drifted up, conversation and laughter, already quite loud as people hurried to drink while they had the chance.
There were several doors off the hall. Hopefully he wouldn’t disturb anyone by checking; the couple was newly married, no children, so he shouldn’t be risking waking any young ones.
The first door was an empty office, loudly masculine with a giant mahogany desk and three stuffed stag heads mounted on the wall. Sebastian narrowed his eyes but shut the door.
The next room held a billiards table and smelled like cigars. He stepped inside, holding the door mostly closed behind him, but the room didn’t appear to have been used recently: no ash in the ashtrays, none of the billiards equipment out of place. He turned to leave.
But as he opened the door, he came face-to-face with a revolver, held by Major Langford.
“I know what you are.”
Sebastian’s eyes widened.
“Hands up. Now.”
Sebastian raised his hands. “Where’s Lord Fine?”
“Here’s the situation,” Langford said, ignoring his question. “We’re surrounded by tipsy idiots who have no idea my gun is currently aligned with your brain. The poison Alasdair gave you is going to take at least another day to work its way out of your system, so if you use your magic, nothing will happen to me, but you’ll make yourself useless. If you cry for help, I have an entire party of hostages to shoot. And I will.”
Sebastian swallowed. He could take a swing at Langford, try to grab the gun, but he was only passably useful in a fight; his magic had meant he’d never needed to learn more than that. Langford had years of combat under his belt; Sebastian had been a medic.
“Hands on your head. Take two steps backward. Any more than that, I start shooting guests.”
Sebastian gritted his teeth but complied. “Where’s Wesley?”
“Somewhere safe from you,” Langford said. “Once we finish with you, your enchantment will break and he’ll come to his senses.”
